


Ho Ho Hopefully

by moments



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, cute holiday stuff yipee, harry being his dumb self as per usual, holiday jokes, i wrote this so fast it doesn't have nearly as much depth as I'd hoped for, so much of it you'll probably get sugar poisoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:37:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2838173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moments/pseuds/moments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Harry attempts to make a Christmas card.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ho Ho Hopefully

**Author's Note:**

> Just so you all know: I originally started writing smut for this but then my parents found and read it so I buried those 200 words somewhere deep in my google docs. 
> 
> (Title shamelessly stolen from the song by The Maine)

It's all a lie; google officially doesn't have the answer to everything.

It's a Tuesday night, the skies are threatening snow, and Harry's tea has gone cold. December is probably one of his favorite months of the year, with its fluorescent lights that wrap around trees and shine like stars, lighting up the air with something magical. There's Christmas, and holiday cheer, and Louis' birthday. Not to mention its the one definite month a year where they're allowed to kick back with their families and take a well deserved break. Especially this year, with the end date of their contract looming near, Harry's able to refuse any and all proposed publicity stunts, and there isn't much left in the hands of management when it comes to begging. He thinks he might get this year right.

So it's on a Tuesday night three days before Christmas when Harry realizes that, while google may be equipped to define an ugly word he's read in a tabloid, or translate something in Spanish while they're in South America, it's not heavily loaded with Christmas jokes.

He's seated at the desk in the bedroom of his and Louis' flat. There's not much covering the surface, just his piece of paper and a pen, his camera off to the side, and what looks like a week old pair of Louis' underwear hanging off one of the corners.

Harry sighs and picks up his phone again, pulling up safari and typing in funny christmas jokes for when you're in love, to which he again finds nothing. He's already tried _funny christmas jokes (What do you call an elf who sings? A wrapper!), silly christmas jokes (What's the best key to get at Christmas? A tur-key!),_ and even _dirty christmas jokes (Why is Santa's sack so big? ‘Cause he only comes once a year.)._

All he needs is a card to go with the present he's already got finished for Louis, and after decorating what he has to admit is probably the most incredible birthday card Louis will ever receive, Harry is set on doing the same for Christmas.

He's decided to go with handmade everything this year, although he's not sure the bottle of mint flavored lube he knows Louis loves counts as homemade. He did draw a heart on it, though.

 _It's the thought that counts_ , he tells himself, picking up the pen and flicking it between his fingers before drawing a star in the top right corner of the paper.

It comes out looking more like an oddly shaped blob, and suddenly Harry knows why he took up singing.

In all honesty, his first thought should've been to call Zayn and beg him to drive down to help Harry with the card. He probably would have laughed, but Harry knows he would've at least followed up with a text full of ideas. He's absolutely shit at drawing, can't ever remember which way is up when he puts his pen down, but copying words from google- that he can do.

He opens the folded piece of paper and smooths out the crease in the center, deciding to have a go at the content of the card before he continues stressing on what the outside should look like. Pulling out his phone, he types in _cute christmas jokes_ , which he hasn't tried yet, and clicks the first result.

It's a Boy's Life article with 25 Christmas jokes, all of which seem to be directed more toward the age range of 8-12. He figures Louis acts like a child enough for it to work.

 _Dear Louis_ , he starts, _What do you get when you cross a snowman and a dog?_ , Harry writes in careful penmanship, and then under it, _Frostbite!_

He sits for a moment, staring at the words on the page, and then groans, crumpling it up and tossing it to the floor. He's never going to get this done.

Four more angry wads of printer paper join the first only minutes later, as he scrolls through the entire first page of google results and finds nothing good.

His patience is growing thin, his stress levels are rising (though they drop significantly when he finds a "joke" that reads _STRESSED is just DESSERTS backwards!_ ), and he's really running out of time.

He's halfway through writing _What's a snowman's favorite Mexican food?_ (which, clearly, if he's writing down a joke relating snowmen to Mexican food he must be running out of options) when he hears a sound from the living room and, yeah, that's definitely the sound of keys in the front door.

"Shit", Harry says, dropping his pen. The floor is littered with crumpled paper and he's halfway through writing the world's stupidest Christmas joke on a card for the person he’s been in love with for the past four years.

"Harry?" Louis calls from the other room.

Harry can hear him toeing off his shoes and dropping his keys in the wooden dish by the front door and, fuck, he has at most fifteen seconds until Louis finds his way to their bedroom.

He quickly caps the abandoned pen and stands, running to the door. He pulls it shut behind him just as Louis turns the corner.

"Louis, hey," Harry says hurriedly, giving a broad smile that he's positive Louis can see right through.

Louis quirks an eyebrow at him, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. "What have you been up to today?"

"What?" Harry asks too quickly. "Nothing, why would you think- nothing. Nothing much." He leans back against the door, one hand still firmly clasped around the knob.

Louis taps a finger against his bicep, hesitating in a way that makes Harry's heart race. He'd take hell over Louis seeing the current state of his creativity anyday. "Then you won't mind if I tell you I'd really like access to our bedroom, which you're actually blocking entrance to right now."

"No, no, of course not. It's just," Harry pauses, searching for an excuse, "it's getting late, why don't we just look for something to eat instead? In the kitchen."

Louis laughs, short and punctual. "You're saying I'm allowed to be in the same room as you while you cook?"

"You cooked for me once," Harry says airily.

"That was _four years ago_."

"People change."

"What's behind the door? Besides our bedroom, I mean," Louis asks. He's never been malleable. Harry knows that.

"Nothing. We could watch x-factor? It starts in a bit, I think."

"Harry."

"Louis."

Louis smiles fondly, eyes crinkling and, god, Harry's so in love with him, even when he's acting like the stubborn shit he's always been.

He walks forward carelessly, crowds Harry up against the door and kisses him, sending Harry's head spinning in what he knows is nothing more than an attempt to ease his hand off the doorknob. He stands his ground, gripping the metal tightly, and attempts to kiss Louis back.

"C'mon baby," Louis says leaning down to mouth at Harry's neck and, yeah, he can't say he remembers Louis peeling his fingers away and quietly opening the door.

"Hah!" Louis cries, throwing the door open the rest of the way and stumbling into the room.

Harry stands there, eyes wide, and lets out a shaky laugh. He's not sure why he's nervous; it's only Louis, the same Louis who watched him trip his way through his last years of being a teenager, and still encourages him to snort milk out of his nose at every chance they get. He has no reason to be embarrassed about the Mexican food Christmas joke written on the paper he should've shoved under the rug.

He watches Louis take in the scene before him: balls of paper cluttered around the garbage can, markers hastily cast aside, one single piece of paper lying on the desk. Harry squeezes his eyes shut and hopes he’s dreaming.

"It's really not what you thin-"

"What's a snowman's favorite Mexican food?" Louis reads. For once, Harry's glad Louis has his back to him.

"I was really just trying to make you a Christmas card," Harry explains, "thought I'd be all creative and what not. Make it from scratch."

"Well, what is it?"

Harry huffs. "I just told you, it's a Christmas-"

"No," Louis says, "a snowman's favorite Mexican food. What is it?"

Harry hesitates, then takes two steps forward and kisses him as a distraction. Louis sighs into his mouth, reaching up to wind a hand through his hair. It's quiet yet desperate, anticipation settling at the ends of Harry's fingertips where they just barely brush the bottom of Louis t-shirt.

When Louis finally breaks away to take a breathe, Harry slowly sits down on the floor, retrieving the garbage can from where it's hidden under the desk. One by one he starts to pick up the balls of paper strewn across the floor, placing them in the metal bin with a satisfying fall each time.

Louis sits down next to him, legs criss-crossed, and leans back against the desk. "Hey," he says, placing a hand over Harry's where it's grasping a sheet of crumpled white.

"I just wanted _something to be perfect_ ," Harry mumbles, shaking his hand out from under Louis' to finish throwing away all the failed jokes.

Louis watches him for a moment longer, then reaches a hand for one of the last remaining balls of paper. "Hey," Louis says, "it is perfect."

Harry raises an eyebrow mockingly. "You're sitting in a puddle of scrap paper."

" _We're_ sitting in a puddle of scrap paper. It's Christmas and we're together," Louis says, tugging on the cuff of Harry's jeans.

"I guess it could be worse," Harry says.

He focuses his gaze on the Christmas lights he'd strung along the point where the wall meets the ceiling. He can feel Louis' gaze on him, can feel the way he's being watched with a sense of both curiosity and admiration.

"Could definitely be worse," Louis says, "but I think it's pretty bad already that you seriously won't tell me the ending of that-"

"Did you know Santa had only eight reindeer last Christmas?"

"What," Louis deadpans.

"Comet stayed home to clean the sink," Harry finishes.

"I-what? That doesn't even make sense."

Harry laughs, running his fingers through his hair and settling them over Louis' hand on his jeans. "I don't get it either."

There's a momentary lapse in conversation, then Louis says, "So are you gonna tell me the punchline to-"

"What's the difference between Santa's reindeer and a knight?"

Louis narrows his eyes. "You know what, I'm just gonna pretend I didn't-"

"One's slaying the dragon, the other's draggin' the sleigh!" Harry exclaims wildly, head tipping back with rambunctious laughter. "Get it? Dragon. Slay. Draggin' sleigh."

"You know that might have been worse than that one you told on stage that one time."

"Which time?" Harry asks, eyes bright, "there have been quite a few."

Louis sighs in defeat. Harry knows he's being the kind of annoying that will rile Louis up for days, but can't bring himself to stop. So long as he's not giving up the punchline to a certain Mexican-food-related joke, he'll deal with Louis pretending to pout.

Harry looks at him, grinning. Then he leans forward, clasps his hands over Louis's knees, and starts to say, "I love y-."

Louis cuts him off with a kiss and reaches his arms up to wind them around Harry's neck. They stay pressed against each other until Louis pulls back and says, "you've really got to stop interrupting."

Harry's grin hasn't subsided. "Could say the same to you."

Suddenly, almost without meaning to, Harry realizes why he's hardly noticed the absence of presents under the tree these past few years. He thinks he knows why he feels content watching the way the lights curl around the branches.

They sit for a moment, foreheads knocking together, mouths ghosting against one another dangerously. Louis has never looked more surreal, strands of hair framed with light as he spreads his lips in a slow smile, eyes gleaming in a way Harry knows is reserved only for him. He figures he knows, has known all along, that it's not really about the Christmas card; it's not about the presents under the tree or the star sitting on top. It hasn't been about any of that for a while because he knows the best present they'll ever be able to share is the promise of each other.

Harry pulls back a few inches slowly to meet Louis's eyes, wondering how he got so lucky. Then, he matches his mouth to Louis' ear, grins, and whispers, "it's a burrrr-ito." 

 

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on twitter @disasterstyles!!
> 
> ps i know tuesday is actually 2 days before christmas this year idk why i wrote it as 3


End file.
